The Rise of House Malfoy
by The Weeping Willlow
Summary: "This was a Malfoy family secret worth knowing, his father assured him, a last cheer if the darkest times were upon the family." - Features an ambitious and cunning Draco Malfoy, who manages to steadily increase his influence, power and wealth, learning to masterfully play the Game of Thrones in the process.
1. With Little Ado, Onwards

**Chapter 1: With Little Ado, Onwards**

Draco sighed, itching to get away from the condescending bugger in the trunk shop. He had first just become annoyed when the insults began, woven into the shopkeeper's sales pitch, about how sorry he was to hear of his fathers death and his mothers imprisonment, with platitudes like "Why lad it's all for the best, isn't it?", said with an almost mocking tone.

It quickly became clear that the shopkeeper, Aldershot or whatever his name was, couldn't decide between gleefully needling Draco about his newfound status as a 'Ward of the Ministry', which legally speaking he had become after the war as part of his plea arrangement, or whether to actually try and sell him the trunk he wanted.

After a second mention of how awful it was that his mother would suffer the dreadful Dementor guards every day for the rest of her life, Draco finally gave up on being patient and turned his polite smile into a venomous frown, cold grey eyes keenly locking with the shopkeeper's suddenly apprehensive brown eyes. Channeling everything his father had taught him about intimidation into a straight posture, intentful eyes and a voice that would make just about any wizard or witch of sound mind to hesitate, he bit out, "Will you sell me a trunk to my specifications or not? I shall thank you not to waste my time any further".

"I.. well of course I", the shopkeeper stammered, not so sure of his words anymore. Clearing his throat to hide his broken attempt at a reply and as an attempt to gather his wit, ' _Whatever he has to begin with, bloody ignoramus_ ', Aldershot then gestured towards his customer as if to wait there, and in a much more fitting tone, or so Draco thought, replied, "If you would wait here, young man, I will fetch the aforementioned trunk". The old fool disappeared into the back room to do just that, returning only moments later to Draco with a trunk made out of dark cherry, its corners and sides furnished with supple chestnut wood, the top smooth and elegantly gleaming.

Galleons went from one hand to the other, with just a few sickles and knuts returned for change, and Draco swiftly exited the shop, determined to be on his way to.. to.. _anywhere but England_. He was clearly persona non grata, regardless of whatever Potter and his ilk had managed to say in his defense. Not that he wasn't thankful of the attempt but really what did the damn Gryffindor think, that the magical population of Great Britain would forgive and forget just because The Boy Who Killed said so? All it did was make the pointed looks, muttered curses and wild gossip lessen slightly. The disdain, the ill concealed hatred, even the pity, it was all still there, barely hidden. Draco _hated_ it.

Having charmed his trunk small enough to fit into his mokeskin pouch, Draco wound his way through the throngs of people in Diagon Alley happily bustling about on errands they had post-poned during the war. As he headed towards Gringotts, his thoughts turned to his new trunk. Its shiny top cover was still unmarked and awaited the inlaid crest of a Noble house like his.

Not that he had much to fill it with, not yet. Nor much money left to buy things to fill it with, after buying the trunk itself. Only a handful of galleons and some smaller change remained in his pouch, the last of the savings he had carefully saved from his plentiful allowance during the school years, and he needed to save that for where he was going. Most of his savings had gone to room at the disgusting inn he had found nestled deep in Knockturn Alley, where voices and activity from the nightly traffic of young witches and enamored (or ensnared) wizards penetrated into the depressing room he had called his for the past month. Still, it was cheap and his reputation was already irrepairably damaged.. what would it matter if someone saw him being a knut pincher, staying at Knockturns favourite house of debauchery.

Yes, the trunk would suit him well for his journey. A perfect replacement for the one the Ministry had confiscated along with everything else found at Malfoy Manor and in the family vaults. His father had made many mistakes, but failing to prepare for the worst was not one of them. Now that all the dust had settled from legal proceedings and the Daily Prophet's hunt for injustice, _of course_ printing as many editions as possible in the process, Draco would visit Gringotts vault number 1109 as instructed.

If it had had any gold or valuables in it, or if it had been in the Malfoy name, the goblins would have been forced by law to turn it over to the Ministry as part of its asset seizure. Lucius Malfoy was no fool however and knew all about those laws and the loopholes that naturally occured within them.

In the vault, registered to the well paid Malfoy family solicitor, Peter Snodgrass, was a single, worthless, and broken, wand. Ten and a half inches, ash and with a dragon heartstring core, rigid and unyielding.

Once belonging to a particularly paranoid Lord Malfoy, particularly paranoid considering the fact that _all_ Malfoys were naturally suspicious, it had numerous of nasty curses and questionable enchantments on it that would instantly make any non-Malfoy who touched it bitterly regret their choice. The magic was still active centuries later, even though the wand itself was broken and not worth a knut, kept so by the ambient magic inlaid in the delicately carved golden runes covering the stone floor it lay on.

This was a Malfoy family secret worth knowing, his father had assured him, a last cheer if the darkest times were upon the family.

"Its secret is that its primary purpose was never to be a wand. It is a portkey, Draco. A portkey meant for one trip, fueled by similar magic to that found in the luck potion, _Felix Felicis_. Created by blood sacrifice and in the most exacting, costly rites ever performed by a wizard. You will arrive somewhere where you will find the most opportune of beginnings, a way to start the family anew, free from the tarnished reputation it now has. Just remember one thing, son. Wherever you end up, keep in mind that if you have to create enemies, do so in the most profitable manner possible. Hold the Slytherin ideals high, do not repeat my mistakes and _never ever lose your wand_ ". Those were the last words his father had said to him, whispered urgently, desperately, and with a haunted look in his eyes. Moments later the Aurors dragged him away for his life's last Kiss, his soulless body now laid to rest in some unmarked plot instead of in the Malfoy family crypt, beneath the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. A place Draco could never return to, it having been sold by the Ministry along with all its furnishings and belongings.

There were so many questions he had wanted to ask him about this special portkey awaiting him and where it would take him, so many accusations and hateful words he wanted to hurl at his father, a thousand things he wanted explained, but all he could do as his father tried to look noble while the Aurors dragged him away, was cry. Tears flowed down his face, but he did not make a sound. Father had always told him that Malfoy's do everything with dignity and this was one of those moments where there was no question of how to act.

Furious at his emotional weakness and the tears threatening to escape from his eyes, Draco clenched his jaw tight and shook away the painful memory as he ascended the Gringotts steps, only just avoiding collision with a witch exiting the bank. The witch quickly moved away from the young well-dressed wizard. He looked much like his father had at his age, with his long, pale blonde hair, almost silver in colour, and it caused all kinds of reactions in people he encountered or passed by, not that he was noticing the effect today, lost in his thoughts.

Some determined steps later, he found himself entering one of the side corridors just off the Gringotts entrance, leading to various private offices and meeting rooms. After passing a half dozen doors, Draco stopped outside the one labelled **Sharptooth, Manager of Accounts** and knocked decisively, forcefully. Goblins did not respect timidity. Living up to their creed that time equals money, he did not have to wait long for the door to open.

"Ah, young Mr. Malfoy. Or should I say Lord Malfoy perhaps? You are expected. Enter. You may sit there", the goblin said while gesturing first for him to come in and then for him to sit in one of the padded, high-backed chairs sat in front of the massive oak desk occupying most of the room. The walls were covered by filing cabinets and a few portraits of murderous looking goblins, _naturally_.

Draco entered the room and gratefully sat in the indicated chair, briefly stopping to execute a short bow before moving directly to the business at hand, "Thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice, Account Manager Sharptooth. I was told that there is a vault in Gringotts that I am allowed to visit despite the recent Ministry seizures. A vault 1109?".

The aged and fierce goblin stared at him, not moving a muscle, eventually responding, "I suspected it would be that", Sharptooth grunted, "And are you aware of the properties of the item found in that vault, Lord Malfoy?", he inquired.

"I have been told what I needed to know by my late father, yes", Draco affirmed.

"And are you aware of the cost?", the goblin demanded.

"What cost would that be, Master Sharptooth? Surely all vault fees and associated cost have been taken care of by Solicitor Snodgrass?"

Sharptooth snorted and clarified, "I do not mean a monetary cost, Lord Malfoy. The price you will pay is of a more intangible nature. We of Gringotts do not know the details of the magics ensconced in the object found in vault 1109, only that it is the result of arcane ritual magic, likely blood magic. As such, your magic and your body's safety cannot be assured in any way by Gringotts, once you touch the item in question and utter its activation phrase."

Draco put on a confident smirk, even though he felt nowhere close to being confident. "The Malfoy family does not need the assurance of goblins to know that our own family heirlooms are safe to touch", he proclaimed.

"Well, then we need not waste any more time here. I will call upon an escort for your journey to the vault. May your gold flow freely, Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy, and may your enemies tremble", Sharptooth offered as a last token of respect to the son of what had once been his most important account holder. He inclined his head slightly, then touched something beneath the desk. Before Draco could utter his formulated reply, the door behind him opened and a goblin stood in the open doorway waiting for him.

Draco rose from his chair and took his time to bow respectfully, deeper this time than before. "May your gold flow freely and your enemies die painfully, Account Manager Sharptooth", he replied. Following the goblin waiting for him down to the vault tunnel tracks, taking in the grand lobby of Gringotts and its varied occupants one last time, he entered the cart that would take him to his next destination right after the goblin did.

The cart quickly started moving forward, downwards, the wind shuffling Draco's hair and it made him think morosely of how he might never be able to play Quidditch again. Eventually the broom's enchantments would fail too, hopefully not before he was dead and gone but, the newer brooms weren't made to last more than a hundred years and he was young still. Surely father would not send him to some place with no magic though. He couldn't be that cruel.

It did not take very long before his depressed musings were interrupted by the cart stopping outside of its destination. The vault was not one of the older, cavernous ones occupying an entire level and thus deep down in the earth, so the journey was a short one. As always, the goblins were an impatient folk and his current escort was no different, opening the vault doors before Draco had even exited the cart.

Despite the sneering, irritated expression that looked permanently pasted on the goblin's face, Draco took his time entering the vault. With measured steps, he walked forward, not sure if he should go ahead or if he even wanted to. What awaited him? Could it _really_ be better? Was it some type of time-turning portkey that would take him back to the time of the founders? No, that kind of thing was just found in the stories. At most it would deliver him to some other magical community on Earth where no one knew his name. That wouldn't be so bad.

Pausing at the vault entrance, he gathered his thoughts and then in the manner befitting the Lord of House Malfoy, purposefully walked in to find a space perhaps the size of the Slytherin common room, with cave walls blasted smooth and curving like a dome around the floor, half again as tall as Draco was. On the ground in the centre of the vault, inside golden concentric circles which were clearly part of the larger rune design covering the rest of the floor in flowing lines, he saw what he came here for. A wand not so dissimilar from his own, except that it was clearly cracked in several places and would be dangerous to cast magic from.

'Doesn't look like much. Maybe it's a joke? A grand joke played on whatever idiot managed to doom the family into this cowardly kind of escape', Draco pondered as he came close to it. But he knew though, that whomever designed this 'lucky portkey', did so for the family and thus it would work as intended. Anything else was unacceptable to a Malfoy.

Carefully going through his cloak pockets, he mentally began inventorying all his various belongings that he would take with him, from the expanded mokeskin pouch containing his trunk and money to his bottomless bag, a sixteenth year birthday gift from his mother, which contained some of the books from the library at Malfoy manor that he had loaned away to school and his own school books of course. Other than that, there were some common magical artifacts, various knick-knacks and a decent supply of ordinary yet useful potions. In one cloak pocket, he also had a shrunk shopping bag from Honeyduke's Sweetshop in Hogsmeade, filled with a good amount of sweets and butterbeer. Who knew when he would taste well made sweets again.

Going through the items one more time, then a second, Draco finally arrived to the conclusion that this was it. There was nothing else to do, no one to say good bye to, nothing to leave behind except for a host of bad memories and horrible experiences. Drawing a deep breath, Draco bent down and touched the broken wand, muttering the words that would activate its latent magic, "Alius mundus, alius locus". ( _A new world, a new place)_

The runes on the ground lit up and the wand in his hand began to burn. A breath later and the world disappeared around him. He felt the typical sensations of portkey travel, but it seemed grander, endless and hurt like being sat on by a troll. The sense of time passing by eventually faded into a feeling of nothingness, before eventually he arrived at, or rather was spat out at, wherever it was. In _mud_. Rain and mud and lighting and thunder. Dazed, about to lose consciousness, Draco looked about and concluded that he was in the middle of a forest. Exerting what felt like the last of his energy, he dragged himself to the nearest tree, for some cover from the stormy weather. Not wanting to waste a pepper-up potion or use a headache potion to ease the pounding in his head, he barely managed to cast a warming charm on himself and close the thankfully water-proof cloak around him, before he gave in to the exhausted and weary feeling permeating his body. Draco passed out beneath the tree he had crawled beneath, glimpsing through its canopy and a gap in the storm clouds, a starry sky.


	2. A Pirate's Treasure

**Chapter 2: A Pirate's Treasure**

Birds twittering, calling to each other in their daily dance of mating and baiting, was what woke Draco from his fevered slumber. His dragonskin boots, of finest make from _Smythe & Tannerson of Diagon Alley_, were drenched on the inside, the socks he was wearing stuck to his feet.

'At least the air is warm', he thought, trying to comfort himself.

Opening his eyes while mentally cursing his father and all of his ancestors for this rotten trip, Draco saw trees he had never seen before. And flowerclad leaves, vines hanging off branches, bushes of brilliant colour spread haphazardly inbetween the trees, even a strange three-legged bird picking at the ground thirty feet to his left. The bird, orange stripes on its blue feathers, froze as Draco rose, then darted off in the opposite direction, looking quite ridiculous running on three legs.

The forest did not look like anything Draco knew. Oh the trees were of tree-like shape, most flowers were clearly flowers with petals, stems and pistils. And the bushes were obviously bushes. But none of it looked familiar, more a cross between wizarding photographs of the jungles he had seen in the travel books of his ancestors, and the mediterranean forests found nearby the old family summer chateau outside Avignon in France, where he had spent several summers as a child.

It must be early morning, he concluded, seeing the sun still low in the sky through the tree branches. The absence of any civilization within sight or hearing worried him slightly, even though his supplies would last him for a week-long search at the very least.

After removing his boots and socks, bare feet set on the prickly forest floor, he took out his wand to dry them off, casting "Adaresco", with a circular movement aimed carefully. The charm would not be a good choice to cast on regular leather, as it extracted all moisture from its target, even protective oils, but the dragonskin's protective characteristics worked differently and so were exempt from the rule.

Draco put the now pleasantly dried socks back on his still moist feet, just wanting to get his feet off the ground, putting on the boots right after.

The air was quickly growing warmer and more humid, noticeably so. 'Might as well dress down, it will be far worse by mid day', Draco reasoned, removing his outer cloak and day-cloak beneath it, leaving him dressed in black trousers and white shirt, now slightly wrinkled from the fitful sleep. Coming from late autumn England, it was a relief to be dressed so lightly and not become cold. He stuffed the cloaks inside his bottomless bag and looked around for where to go.

Feeling a bit queasy from the tumultous trip that brought him here, he decided against eating the few sandwiches from the Leaky Cauldron that he had stored away in his mokeskin pouch as an afterthought. Not knowing what to expect, but not expecting a lack of civilization either, Draco only had proper food for a day, maybe two if he stretched it. 'Idiot. And you call yourself a cunning Slytherin. A weeks worth of food would have been a better idea', he moaned to himself. After the sandwiches were gone, he would have to delve into the Honeydukes bag, which he'd rather not. So it was certainly a sound idea to save the food for later.

'Now to find out where I am and when in Merlin's name the _lucky_ portion of this trip starts. And what is that _smell_? Sulphur?'

Sulphur was, as far as Draco was aware, only used in various fire potions and found in or amongst volcanoes. Perhaps there was a volcano here? That could be bad in several ways. Not even wizards liked living near volcanoes so there wouldn't be any muggle settlements here either in that case. On top of that, there was the rather remote risk of eruption.

'Best not dwell on possible risk at the moment. I need to explore the area surrounding me, for immediate safety and to know where I should go hereafter', he decided, moving slowly through the forest down what seemed to be sloping ground, the sun still in his sight.

After roughly ten minutes of slow going, he saw what appeared to be the ruins of a large stone structure, covered in vegetation. Even up close, it was difficult to see whether or not it was a man-made object or not beneath the dense overgrowth. It stretched as high as the trees in some places, but in others was barely visible above the ground.

Moving closer to one of the structures openings, he saw that there was nothing left of whatever had once been found on the inside. Standing in what likely had once been an arched doorway, Draco looked up and could see the remnants of a roof, covering just a tenth of the room. Deciding that this place might reveal something important, he took out his wand and cast "Incendio", to burn away the vines and leaves covering the floor inside. It was slow going at first, just a few feet at the time, but after some work he had cleared off maybe half the old stone floor beneath. There were cracks everywhere. Jagged cracks, straight cracks, it was as if the stone had been under great stress. 'What could have caused this? A solid stone building, cracked all over and broken to pieces', Draco wondered.

Finding nothing of immediate interest in the room he had been exploring in and seeing no other accessible spaces he could enter, Draco decided that enough was enough. He was not going to go traipsing through the forest like some poor muggle, he was a wizard and _wizards could fly_. Taking out his trusted Nimbus 2001 broom from the bottomless bag attached at his hip, still in excellent condition from his years of playing Quidditch, he mounted it in a practiced motion, pushed off and ascended several hundred feet to gain an overview of where he was.

'It's an _island_! With _more_ islands around. And not a city in sight. What utter rot. Whose bloody idea was it to send me here? I _knew_ I would regret this', Draco whined to himself.

The island wasn't very large either, he thought, maybe the size of a dozen Hogsmeade's or some fourty Quidditch pitches. It was densely forested throughout, quite flat in shape, but even through all those treetops he could see remnants and traces of other buildings and structures just like the one beneath him. One even half submerged, half of it on the long rocky shore stretching around the island and the other going into the green murky water. 'The water surrounding the island is decidedly odd looking too', Draco mused. Almost as if it was blanketed by a thin mist. In the distance he could see more islands, some within minutes of travel on his broom, others merely tiny specks on the horizon.

'Odd place. There's some unnatural shapes on that island nearest to this one, probably more ruins. It's like all these islands were once a larger island, centuries ago, that broke apart somehow. Although what could have done that? One of those muggle weapons Granger was always spouting off about? A natural catastrophe perhaps. And why does it still smell of sulphur, even up here', Draco asked himself.

Circling around to get a more complete view of his surroundings, he spotted a shape in the distance, crested on the rocky shoreline on the other side of the island. 'Might as well have a look', he decided. Flying toward it at slow speed, Draco continued to peer down at the forest canopy beneath him to see if anything appeared interesting or out of the ordinary. More ruins could be seen. 'So tightly together and so many of them. An old city would be my guess', he thought.

Even though the air was pleasantly warm on his skin and the moving air around him concealed some of the sulphuric rotten egg smell, Draco was not able to relax fully. 'Just forest and ruins', he complained to himself, 'Although.. that ruin there almost looked like it was moving just now'.

Spying the large ruin just ahead of him again shifting slightly, and thinking that the ground could be unstable, Draco felt relieved to be in the air. Until the ruin unfolded its wings and stretched up, yellow eyes visibly locking on to him.

'Oh Merlin! A damned dragon. This is _not_ what Father promised! I don't want to be bloody eaten', he panicked, before calming a bit when he saw that the dragon returned to its slumber with a huff, folding its wings back over its body. That's when Draco saw the holes in the wings and that the wing's shapes were off. 'Must have been something nasty to pound a dragon literally into the ground. And it must have happened somewhat recently, else how would it survive? By eating ants? But what could bring down a dragon.. except for an.. another dragon? Hang it, there could be others around!', he realized with widening eyes, pulse rapidly beating. For the second time in less than a minute he felt rather unsafe flying through the air, his head swiveling from side to side, broom going left and right as he ascertained that he was still alone in the sky. Save for the odd bird here and there, it seemed he was.

No way was he going anywhere near the dragon still slumbering on the ground, Merlin knew how high its flames could reach or if it could jump. He was close enough to that shape on the shoreline now to see that it looked like a wooden muggle sailing vessel, without the masts. 'I should go have a look', he told himself, not entirely convinced it was a good idea. A better idea than to stick around waiting to become a roasted-wizard-on-a-stick though. 'A dragon's crispy snack, I am not'.

Pushing more speed into the broom this time and not wanting to be caught out by any hungry predators looking for lunch, Draco reached his destination in less than a minute, a very tense minute. Once safely arrived, he spied the wooden wreck stuck on the sharp rock, as he hovered above. The masts looked to be broken off, just stumps were left on the deck and he couldn't see any bodies either. Father had brought him along to Portsmouth once, where he was going to visit an old school friend, and Draco had seen several large muggle sailing vessels in the harbour there to participate in some celebration. He recalled how he at the time really wanted to have a closer look at them, but Father had insisted that it was a worthless endeavour, bribing him away with a promise to visit a Quidditch league game instead. 'Oh how easily manipulated I was back then'.

Flying along the lines of the ship, still thirty or so feet up in the air, he could see golden lettering on its bow, some letters obscured by dirt. 'It's in _English_! What are the odds of that? Ha-ha, that's brilliant. Finally something is right about this place. Not sure I like the name however', he bemusedly considered.

 ** _Laughing Lion_** it said in flowing script and with large letters painted in gold colour. "As long as there are no Gryffindors here, I suppose I shan't complain", Draco declared out loud. Just to be sure there weren't, he quickly looked around. You never knew with wizards.

The ship looked stable enough where it was lying, so he figured he might as well explore its innards. Landing on the deck near what he thought was the entrance to the lower decks, Draco cast one last look at the forest, as he wouldn't want to be caught in the very flammable ship if the dragon came for him. Deciding that it was all clear for now, his eyes searched out the entrance and saw that while he was right about its location, it was covered by debris.

An easy enough fix for a wizard. With a softly spoken "Winguardium Leviosa", Draco transported the broken planks and ships rigging off the sea side and let it fall unceremoniously into the water below. With the way now cleared, it was all a matter of going in. "Lumos", he incanted, lighting his wand and thus his way. There was no further debris and no bodies seen, as he descended the steps toward the deck below. It was dark inside, with only the area immediately surrounding him alighted from his cast _Lumos_. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the deck above his head and shone down here and there throughout the ship, but not much seemed to be interesting nor valuable. Barrels of what might have contained some type of drink were lying broken open on the deck, while others stood intact around the fallen ones.

The stairs to the deck below this one had obviously been destroyed by the ship's crash onto the rocks and did not look easily traversed. Only one option appeared viable, unless he wanted to loot rotten muggle foods and trinkets; The door found behind the stairs, low in height and appearing slightly crooked. As he approached the door, Draco had a childish notion that there could be treasure inside. Fumbling with the door handle for a moment, he managed to open the door half-way inwards. Something seemed to block it from being swung further in, but there was enough space for him to squeeze through.

It was a cabin of some sort. 'Perhaps where the captain or ship owner slept', Draco mused to himself. The furnishings within had been scattered to the deck, some of it in pieces, and only two things still stood relatively intact. A desk, solid looking, that was bolted onto the wooden deck beneath, and a cabinet off to the right, next to a sleeping alcove.

Going to the desk, he froze momentarily when he spied the shape slumped on the deck where the chair would have been, had it not been broken apart. It was a skeleton, clad in what must have once been expensive clothes, ruby red cloth richly appointed with gold trim. The skeleton was bent over, almost as if it were protecting something in its arms. Draco couldn't see anything but bone though, so he looked around until he saw something near the wall, glimmering slightly. Walking over and bending down, he picked up a dusty and dirty, yet clearly beautiful, sheathed sword. The hardened leather scabbard was immaculately painted in gold and had what appeared to be real gold flakes decorating it throughout the painted design. He couldn't quite see what the decoration depicted, if anything, but it was grand nonetheless.

'Much like some of the ancient swords Father had in the dungeons, those that our ancestors had taken from noteworthy muggle prisoners.'

The sword pommel itself was plain and sturdy looking, though Draco knew a cheap blade would not occupy this masterpiece of a scabbard. Wanting more light, he decided to risk making a little noise. He extinguished his light and aimed his wand at the wall where the dirty unwashed windows lit little of the cabin, and uttered "Bombarda" in a strong voice. Wood and glass exploded outwards, blowing a sizable hole that immediately let through so much light the entire cabin was now easily viewable.

Satisfied that the noise wasn't as bad as he had feared, though aware that it could have attracted unwanted attention, Draco wanted to finish his examination of the sword quickly. Upon unsheathing the sword, he saw what must have been a masterfully wrought blade. He knew this even without knowing much of anything about swords, for even after years in damp conditions where most such things would rust, the blade was shiny and clean, its biting edge still bearing a deadly sharpness.

Holding it up to the light, he spied letters beneath the sword guard, seemingly burned into the blade itself. **_Brightroar_**. 'A name! The sword has a name inscribed on it', he jubilantly thought, 'Things with names are always valuable. Good find, Draco. Maybe even worth a trip through a wild dragon island. I wonder what those curved, golden L's surrounding the name stand for though'.


	3. A Sailor's Woes

**Chapter 3: "A Sailor's Woes"**

The dark green knee-length tunic with its silver trim looked rather dashing on him, Draco decided. He couldn't be certain without conjuring a mirror, but yes it fitted him nicely. It had taken him almost twenty minutes to strip it off the skeleton, skim through Hilda Thinkwhistle's _Practical Household Charms_ for the appropriate charms to clean it and reverse the years of deterioration, and of course transfiguring it to look less Gryffindor.

Father had taught him to always make his surroundings adapt to him, except when stealth was the more fitting path, and blending in by appearing in plain view was ideal. 'The closer to the truth a lie is, the more likely it will succeed'. Acting like a well dressed nobleman would be the easy part, since he was that already. Not yet knowing anything of this world except that there were dragons, that muggles seemed to use sailing ships instead of their other contraptions, and that swords were in still use, Draco knew he would have to rely heavily on his magic and bluffing skills to avoid looking the fool. 'Although looking the fool can be beneficial in some scenarios as well', he thought.

During the necessary but undignified process of appropriating the corpse's clothes, Draco had made several more finds. A small leather-bound notebook, filled with numbers and drawings he did not know the meaning of but took anyway, one gold ring depicting a roaring lion's head on its face and a rather well filled purse. The coins inside were of several different sizes and metals, mostly round gold coins close in size to the galleons in his pouch, the others similar to sickles and knuts. A dagger with a white and yellow gold handle and guard was found sheathed on the inside of the skeleton man's boots, the tip of its handle decorated with a small red ruby.

Flicking off an imaginary speck on the silver-threaded cuff of his right arm, he looked around for other valuables to claim as his own. Searching the rest of the cabin, including the two desk drawers, yielded several more items of interest, a folded map in particular which he found in the right desk drawer underneath some muggle trinket. Unfolding it across the desk top, several things became quickly apparent. The markings on the map were, he guessed, of the ship's travel path. Since one end of the route looked to be a port town, with several more stops in port along the way, and the other set in the middle of an island group, Draco at last had a starting point.

Isolated location notwithstanding, this had become an excellent beginning of his new life. In just one day, he had nearly quadrupled his funds, gained well-crafted weaponry he could sell for more money, and he had a general idea of where he was in the world, in addition to knowing what must be the major centers of civilisation.

Outside, the world was slowly turning darker. 'Several hours until nightfall. But being ill prepared was to be ill of mind, Father always said'. Disregarding the Hagrid-sized hole in the ship's aft wall, this cabin would be a good shelter from the elements and whatever nasties roamed the island at night. Draco attempted a _Reparo_ , nearby debris rising up to reform the wall at his command. Although only about half of the damage was undone, it would have to do.

Having gained an appetite from the excitement of the day, he took out three of the six ham and cheese sandwiches he had bought at the The Leaky Cauldron and a single butterbeer from the Honeydukes' bag. Draco sat himself in the sleeping alcove that was part of the portside wall, filling his belly and warming his soul with food from home. 'Home.. I will never see it again.' The realization was painful. Even with no real friends and no accessible family left, it hurt to know that there were many things he could never do or see again.

Trying to get his mind onto other things and not dwell on it, Draco took out his bottomless bag hanging on his trousers' waist, stuck an open hand down in it and said, "Witty Wizard's Travel Guide". The book he wanted to read was laid in his palm, and grasping it, he pulled it out, the bags opening adjusting to the size as he did.

He had never read it or heard it mentioned in anything except casual conversation, however Draco knew there were spells in it that could be useful in his situation. In the foreword alone, the author, Ferris Journeyman, suggested three spells every travelling wizard or witch should know. As it was annoying to hold a lit wand with one hand and the book with the other, the _Igneus_ charm was something he cast right away. After a few minutes of repeated attempts, adjusting his wand movement and intonation, a glowing ball of soft light, half the size of a bludger, appeared above the tip of his wand. Moving the wand so the orb of light rested above his head, he uttered "Volito", detaching the light from the wand and leaving it hovering in the air. It would stay there for several hours if left alone, the book claimed.

Satisfied, Draco returned to his reading. Many charms and ideas for transfiguration filled the book, along with lengthy attempts by the author to appear witty, failing miserably. 'Many of the spells are ridiculous too. What's the use of turning a fish inside-out? I can see it being useful if applied to a human though. Nott would have loved that one', he reminisced.

* * *

Waking up and blinking blearily, Draco sat up and yawned loudly. The book fell to the floor, from where it had been resting on his chest, with a thud. He bent down to pick it up, grimacing at the soreness in his backside from the uncomfortable sleeping arrangement.

Taking care of his morning needs and finishing the last two mouthfuls found in the butterbeer bottle, he decided that it was time to go and see if he could find some civilization. Putting the book back into the bag along with the sword and dagger still lying on the desk top, the world map and coin purse ended up in his mokeskin pouch instead for faster access.

'Bit chilly out compared to yesterday. I best dress up', he thought, putting on just his cotton day cloak over the tunic, since the wool outer cloak was much too thick and warm.

Draco glanced about the cabin interior for anything else worth taking, then took out his broom, mounted it and flew out through the hole in the back of the ship. Instead of risking going near the dragon and not knowing if its wings could have healed, entirely possible since dragons were magical creatures, he began flying north, having decided to seek out what on the map seemed to be a city called Oros. Passing over several islands of similar size to the one he had just left, he spotted notable ruins on the land beneath. Almost all were as covered in dense vegetation as those he had found earlier, but a few tower-like structures still stood several stories high, with a vast amount of stone slabs strewn about at their feet suggesting they had once stretched high into the sky.

'I need to come back here soon and explore it more. If I can figure out a way to deal with that blasted dragon, that is. Spending several weeks in this place could finance the rest of my life, if yesterday was any indication'

He was itching to stop already, to fulfill his greed and curiousity. If only his supplies were more plentiful or if food could be conjured. There were ways of capturing birds and other wildlife of course, and certainly charms for preparing a meal out of them, but Draco had no desire to rough it out unnecessarily. He was a Malfoy, not a Weasley.

Enjoying his bird's eye view of the broken lands beneath him, for what a beautiful and yet desolate place it was, he almost didn't hear what sounded like a shout coming from the forest floor below. Circling around to gain a better perspective, Draco was almost sure he saw a man darting off into the underbrush. Taking out his wand and descending slowly, looking carefully in all directions as he did, he touched down softly in a small clearing.

There was some tension in the air and Draco had no desire to wait for a dangerous encounter with an unknown person, so he cast _Homenum Revelio_ , the spell outlining a human shape in the bushes to his left.

"I know you are there, I can see you in the bushes. Come out or this will turn unpleasant", he said.

The person started. His or her body began shaking slightly, as it slowly arose from its hiding place. A man, straight dark blonde hair framing a narrow face. Hunched over and weak looking, with little or no fat discernable, and an unsure, slightly crazed look in his eyes.

Licking his lips nervously, eyes flicking to Draco's wand and then the broom held in his left hand, he whispered "What are ye?". Eyeing the broom again, he added, "And be that a broom?". The muggle's voice was hoarse from disuse.

"A wizard. And yes, obviously. No, stay where you are. Do not move again, muggle", Draco warned, as the man had begun to back away at the word 'wizard'.

"Muggle? I don't.. Are ye an apparition? One o' them ghosts that wander t' freehold? How else could you fly in t' air?"

"Magic. And do not speak unless I tell you. Now, answer me this", Draco began, eyes narrowing in thought, "What is this 'freehold' you speak of and why are you here?

The man's forehead wrinkled and he looked confused. "Valyrian Freehold. Stretched half t' world, it did, yes it did. Ye must have seen t' ruins, must have. Came t' find somethin' for m'lord."

"Ah. Valyria. I saw it on a map. Impressive, if the scale of it was how I picture it. Who is your lord and what did you seek?", Draco asked.

"Was a coxswain on Lan's Pride. We were a supply ship to t' Laughin' Lion we were, Lord Gerion's ship. We were here t' find an important arthurfact belongin' to House Lannister. 'twas a greatsword, a Valyrian blade."

'Well, well, well. An important artefact, he says. A bargaining chip, I say', Draco thought, pleased with himself and already plotting ways to use the Lannister sword to further his own ends.

Fidgeting nervously, the man looked about to run off despite Draco's command.

Deciding to try a different tactic, Draco smiled and lowered his wand. In an apologetic tone, he said, "I am sorry for being so cautious. One can never know who you will meet. Please, let us converse in a more comfortable setting. Do you have a camp nearby or a place where we can talk?"

Hesitating, the man nodded. "Don't want t' be out in t' open anyway. Can talk at me cave we can, this way it is", he said, going off into the forest with Draco following a half dozen steps behind, after having put his broom into the bag without the muggle seeing. 'No need to invite more questions'.

After going on for a while without speaking, Draco's curiousity got the better of him. "Where are you from, muggle?".

"Brenden, o' Lannisport. What's yours?"

'I didn't ask for your name, idiot', Draco thought.

"I am Draco Malfoy", he replied, amending, "Lord of House Malfoy". It was always a good idea to show lesser folk where they stood to avoid misunderstandings, father used to say.

Brenden turned his head half-way back and nodded in greeting. "M'lord", he said, touching his knuckle to his head. 'Good muggles know their place', Draco thought.

Silence descended once more. Eventually they arrived at a small opening in the ruin of some once wide and tall building. "It ain't much, it ain't, but there's food soon, ye will see. Brenden will get a fire started, he will", Brenden said, gesturing for Draco to sit on a log nearby. Brenden slipped into the thin opening in the wall before Draco could protest, returning shortly after with two small plucked birds and a pot.

Going back and forth, Brenden brought firewood and two mugs as well, though no eating utensils that Draco could see. After stacking the firewood up carefully, the muggle was now grinding against a stone with a small knife, producing tiny sparks. After several minutes, Draco's patience ran out. "Out of the way", he commanded.

The muggle, kneeling on the ground in patchy and dirty clothing, looked bewildered, and was about to ask something, when Draco raised his wand toward the fire and incanted, "Incendio". Fire streamed from the wand tip into the stack of firewood, Brenden quickly jumping aside in reflex, ending up on his arse, staring with open mouth and amazement at Draco. The fire took off with a roar.

"Are ye t' fire god then? R'hllor?", the muggle asked, his eyes wide open.

Draco's lips curved up. If all muggles were going to receive him like this, he would rule this world in no time. "Yes, I would be a God to you, wouldn't I", he mused.

"While you prepare the food, tell me about this Lannisport and House Lannister. Everything you know, leave nothing out", Draco said, settling in to listen as the lonely stranded sailor began speaking with little pause.

When the bones of the small birds were resting on the ground an hour later and the tea-like hot liquid the muggle had served him for drink was nearly finished, Draco knew some about Westeros and much about the Lannister family. That their wealth was legendary, their noteworthy deeds many and that the Lord Lannister was a cunning man one simply did not take lightly. From what the muggle was saying, not even the commoners, or "small folk" as he put it, loved their Lord, but everyone respected and feared him. 'A worthwhile ally or a dangerous enemy. I will have to be careful when I approach him', Draco thought.

The city of Oros that he had as his next destination was not a place that Brenden recommended. He expressed fear when hearing the name, saying that there were rumors of deadly creatures in that place.

Brenden spent over ten minutes on the subject of Essos, briefly expanding on the port cities of importance, from the Free Cities; Volantis, Lys and others in the west, to the slaver ports Astapor, Mereen and Yunkai in the East.

Volantis sounded like a promising start to Draco, having no desire at all to visit the dusty muggle slaver ports in Slaver's Bay. No, Volantis was a good choice. A large city with much trade, politics and plots abound, not to mention a chance for the comforts befitting a Malfoy.

"So there are no wizards in these lands, you say?"

"None tha' I know o', m'lord. There's t' House o' t' Undyin' in Qarth where they say t' warlocks have magic, they do say so, but Brenden never saw it, no he didn't".

'The muggle has clearly gone off the deep end'

"Have you been here a long time? You seem to have survived well", Draco said.

Brenden's eyes grew haunted as he considered how to respond. "I lost count of t' days, m'lord. Never was good at countin' anyways. Years. Three, four, I don't know. It ain't been easy here, it ain't been. Little food and t' water's sour. Brenden wants nothin' more than t' get out of here", he said. His face became hopeful then. "Please, m'lord, take me with ye when ye go. Not seen me buxom beauty or me home for years, I have. Don't think I can go on much longer, Brenden don't think so".

Inwardly grimacing at the pleading tone in the man's voice, Draco smiled in a comforting manner. "You have provided me with much information that will aid me. I will not forget it", he said.

A large smile lit up Brenden's face then, a look of relief settling. "Let Brenden clean up this mess, m'lord. I will show ye me cave, I will", the thin starved man said, beginning to move about with purpose, taking some things to put back in the "cave".

Draco shook his head bemusedly, taking out his broom and looking up at the cloudless sky above. "Just early afternoon. Hours of light left", he said to himself.

Mounting his broom and taking off, this time heading toward Volantis in the west, he heard shouted pleas and tear-filled denials emerge from below.

"Please, m'lord! Please! Don't leave Brenden here! No", the last word drawn out in despair.

Squashing the slight feeling of guilt, Draco reassured himself that he did nothing wrong. After all, it was only a muggle.


	4. A Flying Harpy

**Chapter 4: A Flying Harpy**

The blistering sun beat down on the lone figure flying through a cloudless sky, but the high altitude and its cooler air made it bearable nonetheless. A sun protection charm had been applied, just in case. Draco had been flying non-stop ever since that morning, continuing his journey northwest now, heading to the city of Volantis. The previous night had been spent on the last island he had seen, bordering the vast open sea owning the horizon. He was tired from his sleep being interrupted by flies and insects, continually plaguing him throughout the night.

Ferris Journeyman's "Witty Wizard's Travel Guide" had provided a charm to keep the flying and crawling bite-happy critters away, which Draco had quickly cast on himself, only to wake hours later covered in bugs. Either the charm worked only a short time or the author hadn't actually tried it out for himself. Draco suspected the latter. At least it had only taken him half an hour to transfigure himself a mattress to sleep on. Transfiguration was his fourth strongest subject after potions, the dark arts and charms, but he still struggled with it sometimes.

Blue ocean spread out underneath him, largely still and with little sign of wind. He had seen two muggle ships so far, their white sails easily visible from a distance, which had prompted him to stop every two hours, so that he could reapply notice-me-not charms on himself and the broom, and a disillusionment charm with questionable effectiveness. It would have to be enough, he reasoned.

After flying for nearly six hours, he saw what must be a small island in the distance. Excited for a place to rest and eat his last two sandwiches, and to enjoy a chilled butterbeer in the sun, Draco sped up, his body crouching on the broom as if in a race. Descending down as he was getting close, he tilted to the side and skimmed the water surface with his right hand. The closer he got to the island, the less dark the ocean grew, as turqoise and then clear blue water took over. It seemed a paradise, and the perfect rest stop for a weary wizard.

The island wasn't large at all, maybe a mile at its widest, and round in shape. What looked like palm trees bordered the white, sandy beach that Draco landed on. 'Not bad. A vacation spot for the future', he thought as he looked around. Wandering off the beach into the shade, he was glad to escape the suddenly pressing heat. He wolfed down his last sandwiches with a mouthful of cold butterbeer, and felt a need to cool down. Instead of taking the easy route, like casting a temporary cooling charm, Draco instead looked at the beach and the gently lapping waves.

An easy decision to make. Stripping down to just his underwear and thin undershirt, leaving his cloak, tunic and boots by a small bush, he walked leisurely down to the beach, sipping from his butterbeer bottle. As his bare feet touched the sand, his toes curled down into its warmth and he just stood there, in the sun. It was brilliant. Such an enormous change from cold, cloudy England.

Bottle empty and thrown into the sand, Draco ran into the water and dived in. The top layer was warm, but as he got down deeper, the temperate water refreshed him and cooled his body. He swam up to the surface again and simply floated there for at least twenty minutes, enjoying the sun's heat from above and the waters embrace from below. 'I could lie here all day', Draco thought. That would have been stupid though, since his supplies were getting dangerously low and he didn't really know how much farther it was to the mainland. Sad to get up even if he knew it was necessary, he swam slowly back to the beach and walked out of the water, sand sticking to his feet.

Having left his wand by his clothes, Draco stretched himself out on the sand, intending to let the sun dry him off. 'I can relax for half an hour, there's not really a rush is there?'. A bit drowsy from the food and heat, he fell asleep there, the sun's warmth covering him like a blanket.

Draco jerked awake to the feeling of cold iron being clapped around his ankles, his hands grabbed by large calloused hands as another set held him down onto the sand. With the sun in his eyes, he could only see the outline of three large figures standing above him, one chattering softly in a language he couldn't recognize.

"What the.. get your hands off me, filthy muggles", he shouted. They either didn't understand or didn't care, for his hands were soon cuffed as well, a thin chain connecting the iron clapped around his ankles with the confining bands around his wrists. A furious struggle to resist gained him nothing but a hard hit on his face and his lip split, and the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.

His body was lifted up to stand and he could now see the men that had taken him prisoner. They were all clad in thin, brown cotton cloth, with leather strapped around their chest and waists. "You move. Stop, and pain come", a heavily accented voice said. The dark-skinned and heavyset man who threatened him suddenly grinned, showing a row of white and gold teeth that gleamed in the sun. Saying something to the others that Draco didn't understand, he turned and walked along the beach that hugged the island shore, heading toward its northern tip.

The other men, with dark complexions and black hair as well, prodded him to move and follow. Reluctantly, his head held high, Draco shuffled on. He was thinking a mile a minute, wondering how he was going to get out of this. Could he manage a wandless Alohomora? He only needed to free his feet so that he could run and get his wand. Glimpsing several blades on each man and unfriendly eyes that tracked his every move, Draco knew that that was much too risky. 'Bribing them won't work either. They'll just take my gold and laugh', he thought.

A mind honed from masterminding, escaping, evading or altering daily plots during his school days, he went through every scenario he could imagine. Leading them to his things was out of the question. He couldn't risk them harming or destroying his wand and broom, nor for them to find out the wonders of his bottomless bag or mokeskin pouch. Such secrets were surely worth lives to the muggles, and his would be the first to be snuffed out, after they had made him tell them everything he knew.

Several times he had to stop, the uneven iron cuffs digging into his ankles and almost breaking skin. His captors seemed entirely unsympathetic, whacking him on the head or hitting him in the side to urge him forward. Five minutes turned into ten minutes, and Draco still had no viable escape plan as they passed through bushes and sandy dunes, to arrive on the islands northern beach. From there, he saw their next destination. A wooden rowboat, with three heavy oars mounted on each side. In the water, some forty yards out, was an anchored ship. Sails were rolled up on its two large masts and he could see movement on the deck. From its stern, a flag moved gently in the light breeze, depicting a flying harpy on a yellow background.

'What the bloody hell do they want with me? Could these be slavers?', Draco wondered. 'Ruddy muggle slavers. I am _not_ going to be a slave to some fat muggle.'

No, he had to get out of this and soon. Apparating would have been an option, but Draco didn't have the training or experience to guarantee a splinchless attempt and it wasn't something he wanted to risk with the heavy iron cuffs on him either. There was no St Mungo's here to repair the damage if something went horribly wrong.

Lifted into the boat, where the fat bastard who had grinned at him earlier already sat, the other two men joined four others that had been on the beach, loading what looked to be barrels of water. They seemed a happy bunch as they loaded the barrels onto the boat and then settled behind oars, laughing and joking with each other in a language that sounded a mixture of Arabic and Chinese. Soon they were out in the water, swiftly heading to their ship, oars hitting the water in practiced, synchronized motion.

A man with his head covered in faded yellow cloth appeared at the railings, and shouted something down to the fat man. Draco's captor shrugged and said something that made all the men laugh. Lines of rope hanging on the side of the ship were quickly lashed onto the boat by two men who had climbed down as soon as they had reached the ship. The men in the boat scaled the side of the ship easily, only slowing down a little so that they could heave Draco up onto the deck. Once aboard, they dispersed all over, heading for other duties or to talk with the remaining crew that had gathered to look at their surprise guest.

'At least ten of them altogether, maybe more below deck. Even if I could do wandless magic I would be hard pressed to get out of here easily or at all', Draco thought.

He was jostled down an open hatch in the middle of the deck and immediately felt disgusted by the penetrating smell of sweat, shit and piss. And when he saw what they were dragging him to, he almost threw up. There, streching maybe half the ship's lower deck, was a barred enclosure, essentially a huge cage, filled with fifty or sixty miserable looking people. Some were large, muscular and looked as out of place there as the lanky and aristocratic blonde Slytherin, others dirty but attractive women or young girls. Most however were gaunt men with dead eyes. All of them stared at the new addition to their sorry group, being thrown in to the mass of bodies, cuffs and chains still restricting his movement. With a loud clang, the enclosure's door shut and Draco felt a sinking feeling.

Several hands helped him sit up, one clasping his shoulder in a comforting manner, and whispers in various languages broke out. Draco only shook his head to show that he couldn't understand any of them, until someone rasped out, "Westerosi?". Turning to look at the man that asked, he hesitatingly nodded.

"Of Westerosi lineage, but I grew up in the east and have spent most of my life in Asshai and Yi Ti. I was heading toward Westeros to find my heritage when I was shipwrecked on an island", Draco lied. He had already figured out, from his talk with the shipwrecked muggle, that few people of Westeros and Essos had ever been to the far east of the world or that they even knew anything about it. Claiming to have grown up there allowed him to plausibly claim ignorance of many things he _should_ know about, and still maintain he was of Westerosi descent.

"As I thought". The man, a tall bearded fellow some fourty years of age, was thin but had some sinewy muscles visible. "I am from Westeros myself. Worked as a mercenary, up until recently that is."

"You have the bearing of a nobleman, and the hair of a Targaryen or maybe a Velaryon", he continued, "A bastard then, or the son of one. An unlucky bastard, at that, to be caught by Yunkai slavers."

"Yunkai?", Draco asked, not confirming or denying his ancestry. "Is that where they are taking us?"

The man shrugged. "If we are not sold in Astapor first, aye".

Draco looked around and saw that only one slaver was nearby, sound asleep on some sacks. As Draco studied his surroundings, the Westerosi mercenary studied him.

Guessing that the man was, even half starved, skilled at fighting, Draco took a risk.

Locking eyes with him, he asked, "If I can get us out of these restraints, will you help me take over this ship?"

The man laughed. "I like you, bastard. But rid yourself of such childish dreams. We are not getting out of here", he replied.

"We are, if you will help me", Draco insisted.

"If you get me out of here, I am your man until death, bastard or not", the mercenary replied, tone growing more serious as he saw that Draco was not joking.

"Good. And don't call me bastard. My name is Draco Malfoy. What of these other people, can you speak their language and ask them to help us?"

"Aye, but they are born slaves or smallfolk with no skills. They would only be in our way in a fight. I am Jorah Mormont, of Bear Island. I have never heard of House Malfoy before, however", the man, Jorah, stated, voice tinged with suspicion.

"It was the name my great-grandfather took after leaving Westeros for Asshai. My father never told me which house we came from, only that it was a great one. I know I'm not a bastard, for my mother and father were wed, but maybe great-grandfather was", Draco lied, convincingly it seemed for the dubious look in Jorah's eyes lessened.

"I should like to hear that story one day, Draco Malfoy. Tell me, how will you break us free of these chains?"

"You'll see when it happens", Draco replied, a smug grin growing on his face. "The slavers, how often do they inspect the hold? Are we ever left alone?"

"These Yunkai pigs, they don't set foot below deck unless they have to. Only one man stays here during the day to make sure none of us die and he is often asleep, as you can see."

Draco glanced once more at the snoring slaver and saw that he had a curved blade by his side.

"If I get us free and open the door, can you take care of the guard without him waking?"

Considering the question for a minute, Jorah finally nodded. "You would have to open it quickly and with little sound or we'd both be headless in short order."

"Shall I do it now?", Draco asked, impatient to get free of this disgusting place and to retrieve his things, his wand most of all.

"No, we should wait until night. Only two men are awake then. I am good with a blade, but a dozen men at once are too many."

"I need to get back to the island they took me from, at any cost. If we get too far away, I might never find it again", Draco insisted.

"I can find it again. There are not many islands on the way to Slaver's Bay that have fresh water and are without people", Jorah said reassuringly, not saying how he knew which those islands were. That made Draco feel wary and reminded him that he did not know this muggle nor could he trust him yet.

"All right, but we will need to get back there as soon as possible. I have family heirlooms there, things I'd rather die than lose", Draco said.

"Relax, young lord. We will get there. First, we must kill every Yunkai aboard. And I have an idea on how we can do that", Jorah began.

Draco moved close to his newfound ally, as the two began to plot their escape.


	5. A Sordid Affair

**A/N:** Sorry for the late update. My thoughts got stuck in traffic. There'll be at least one more chapter later this weekend.

 **Chapter 5: A Sordid Affair**

"Are you ready?"

"Aye. Speak more softly, we do not want to wake the others. How will this work?"

"I'll free myself first, then you. Wait."

Draco knew that wandless magic did not rely on touch, but even so grasped the keyhole inbetween his cuffs with his hands. Closing his eyes, he thought back to the times he had practiced opening locked doors in the Slytherin dorms without a wand, focusing his intent, and visualising what he wanted to happen. _Alohomora_ he thought, picturing the cuffs unlocking. It didn't work. Taking a deep breath, he repeated the process, this time adding in the desperation he felt at being restrained, and the need to be free.

Finally, his magic answered the call, and with a soft click the cuffs fell free from his wrists. Before they could noisily clatter to the floor, Jorah caught them in his hands, eyes unsure if what he had seen was real or not.

"How.. no, never mind. Quickly, before the watchman comes down for his rounds", the Westerosi mercenary urged.

With the feeling fresh in his mind, Draco succeeded on the first attempt, unlocking the cuffs around his ankles, freeing his feet. There was a bit more sound this time and both men froze, carefully looking around the cage. After a tense few seconds, Draco moved on to help release Jorah, and as he moved from wrists to ankles, his ally looked at his now freed hands wondrously, unbelieving.

Both free of their restraints, they moved slowly to the cell door, careful not to touch or step on anyone in the crowded space. Putting his hands on the door's locking mechanism, Draco again bid his magic to aid him, and now it was all a matter of timing. Any minute, the watchman from the third watch would climb down the hatch, sat in the middle of the upper deck, to check on their property.

After both exited the cell, Draco turned to close the door and saw that he was being watched. An older man, perhaps fifty years of age, though it was hard to tell, was sitting up, gawking at the two escapees, dumbfounded. Draco caught his eyes, and silently plead with him not to do anything stupid, to act as if everything was alright. The man finally nodded slowly with a tentative smile.

Sighing in relief, Draco nodded back, and moved to join Jorah who had gone and hid himself behind a pile of sacks just past the climbing net hanging from the hatch opening.

Huddling together as best they could behind the sacks, they had barely put their heads down before a foot was seen through the opening, followed by another. A muscular man, his head covered by cloth wrapped around it, and the side of his neck heavily tattooed, descended down, hitting the deck with a soft thud. Draco could see a sheathed, curved blade hanging on the man's belted waist.

The slaver had a lantern in his left hand, the right hand free to draw his sword if necessary, but he never had the time to react. Five steps toward the slave cage was all he managed before Jorah had his neck in a chokehold. Draco drew the sword from its sheath and.. hesitated. He had never killed someone with a muggle weapon. "Do it. Do it _now_ ", Jorah whispered, a desperate look in his eyes.

Draco swallowed, steeled himself, and plunged the sword through the slaver's heart, Jorah moving to the side as he did, to not get run through. With a gurgle, the Yunkai man died, and his body was lowered to the deck.

Taking the sword from Draco's shaking hands, Jorah steadied him with a touch on his shoulders, whispering, "You did well. But only half the battle is done. The coxswain is still at the helm, and we must kill him without waking any of the men asleep. And it's only an hour until dawn. If we fail.."

Nodding, bile in his throat, the dying slaver's eyes fresh in his mind, Draco tried to get a hold of himself. When killing with a wand, there was no blood gushing from wounds, and you couldn't feel the bones of your victim grind up against your wand. A sword really made you feel it.

'Father was right, muggles are barbaric.'

"I'll be fine", he said, not really sure he would be.

Jorah didn't look like he believed that either, but he nodded nonetheless, and motioned for Draco to help him undress the dead Yunkai.

Several minutes later, the now disguised muggle climbed up through the hatch, pausing only briefly to look toward the helm with the coxswain at the steering wheel, then to the ship's bow where the eight remaining crew were asleep on deck. There were only two lanters lit, one by the short stairs leading up to the helm and one hanging on a peg in the mid-mast, only ten feet from the hatch opening.

If the night had not been cloudy, the moonlight would have revealed the disguise for what it was, highlighting the bloody stain on the breast, but the Gods were kind.

Jorah almost fell as the ship rose to cut through a high wave, his sealegs not properly used for months. Instead, he started forward, heading to the helm briskly to mask his wobbly knees. At the staircase he averted his cloth-covered head to look out at the sea, praying to whatever Gods that would listen to let his disguise hold for another minute.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned and saw that the helmsman's half-lidded eyes were fixed forward, only awake enough to keep the ship on course. Jorah unsheathed the sword in a motion that ended with it buried in the Yunkai man's neck, blood spurting out from the deep wound. The stunned man released his hold on the ship's steering wheel to fumble at the blade embedded in his neck, but his muscles and body failed him moments later, falling to his knees before toppling over onto the wooden deck. Jorah took hold of the steering wheel just in time to keep it from spinning out of control. A sudden change in course might be noticed even by a sleeping crew.

Looking out onto the deck ahead, he saw that none of the sailors had awakened, and relaxed just a fraction. It was unlikely that any of them would be armed with more than knives - climbing around on a swaying ship with a large sword, even sheathed, was foolish, though Jorah didn't know for sure if any of them had a sword nearby, so he would have to be as quick as a Dornish sand viper. He tied the steering wheel with the heavy rope loosely wrapped around its base, and pulled his sword free of the dead man.

His body still tense, and with the adrenaline flooding his system, the next five minutes felt like five seconds. Three men died from his forceful stabs to their heads, and chests, before the others were jerking awake, although by then it was already too late. A short man with wiry strength lunged at him from the right, but three steps and a half pivot had him headless. With just knives, wooden clubs, or bare hands, the slaver crew had no reach in their attacks, and thus certainly no match for a castle-raised man drilled from childhood in the ways of the sword, half-starved though he was. Another body fell to the deck, and one man lost his right hand, before the three Yunkai slavers still alive raised their arms in surrender. Jorah was unsympathetic. Blood made the deck slippery, bodies, and body parts, obstacles, yet all it did was delay their deaths. His strained muscles shook his body as he went to the hatch, from where a shocked wizard had watched the battle unfold.

'Merlin's bearded balls, that's one dangerous muggle', Draco thought. Swallowing down the nauseous feeling as best he could, he climbed up through the hatch, averting his eyes from the blood and flesh covered deck.

"Well, now what do we do?", he asked.

Still breathing heavily, Jorah didn't answer right away, only looking at Draco with assessing eyes. He began raising his sword, paused, then let it fall with a clatter onto the deck, breathing out a heavy sigh.

"Now, Lord Malfoy, we sail to your island."

Draco nodded. "Right. And, how do we do that? I don't have a bloody clue about the workings of a Mugg.. of a ship like this", he said.

"I reckon we can roust a few able hands from the hold, in exchange for the promise of freedom."

"And as for the rest of them?"

"We keep them locked up. I doubt most would agree to sail anywhere but the nearest port, and they outnumber us by far."

Draco felt a bit more at ease at that. He had thought about what he would say if the muggle swordsman suggested they let the slaves roam free aboard the ship, and had prepared several eloquent arguments for keeping them locked up.

"First, let us strip these bodies of any weapons. Best not take unnecessary risks."

"A sensible suggestion", Jorah agreed.

After collecting a spiked wooden club and several knives, one of which Draco took, they returned to the hold, waking the sorry lot of people there by whacking the iron bars with a sword. Surprised shouts, happy smiles, and questioning eyes greeted them as the many men, women and children woke up to see their fellow slaves armed, and outside the enclosure.

As Jorah spoke in a language that sounded much like Spanish or maybe Portuguese, frowns replaced smiles, and joyful shouts turned to muttering. In response to what Draco thought sounded like a question, several men, and one woman, slowly took to their feet. Gesturing for them to come forward to the cage door, Jorah turned to Draco, saying "Open the door, and look ready to use that knife."

Swallowing, Draco straightened up, and attempted to look threatening. Placing a hand on the lock, he swung the door open wide enough to let the four men, and woman, through, closing it swiftly behind them. Several of the slaves in the hold were moving to the door, looking ready to force it open, when the loud click of the door locking stopped them in place. While many shouted angrily, defiantly shaking the iron bars that still held them captive, a few were eyeing Draco with astonishment and fear, for he had no key in his hands.

Jorah attempted to appease the angry mob with calming words, and friendly gestures.

"I don't think they believe you, Mormont", Draco stated, matter-of-factly, the murderous glares, and flying spit, proving his point.

"It was worth a try. They don't understand why they have to remain locked up. But I know what would happen if we let them out.. they would eat our meagre food stores in days, not realizing that we're many leagues from the nearest port", Jorah replied, lips pursed in a frown.

Draco looked at the still emotional throng of people, and recognized an opportunity. 'Help the helpless, Draco, and they are forever in your debt'. His father's voice was an ever present advisor.

"There is something I can do about the food situation. Once we get to the island, that is", he said.

Jorah raised an eyebrow. "What would that _something_ be?"

Before Draco could reply, he continued, "Ah, let me guess.. I'll see it when it happens?"

Draco smirked. "I guess you will. I need some of my things on the island."

"A week ago, I would not have believed a word of that, Draco Malfoy. Now, I might never doubt you again", Jorah said. He looked at the slaves that had volunteered to help, doing their best to blend into the woodwork.

"I will set these five to work cleaning the deck, and preparing a simple morning meal. Then we'll turn this ship around. Unless", he paused, "You have any objections?"

"No, none at all. It seems you have things under control, Mormont. Carry on", Draco said, pleased with himself that things were finally turning around.

* * *

A shout woke Draco from his slumber in the ship's forecastle. He'd spent most of the day after taking the ship questioning Mormont about Westeros, as their rag-tag crew cleared the deck from severed limbs, and pools of blood. The Seven Kingdoms seemed like somewhere he'd fit in, at least in theory. The reigning King a drunken fool, plenty of schemes to unravel, and several cunning nobles that _might_ make for challenging adversaries, even if they had no magic of their own.

In turn, the Westerosi asked Draco about Yi Ti and Asshai, which required some quick thinking, and careful deflecting. He wasn't sure that he had entirely convinced Jorah of his origins, but at least he'd not built a web of lies easily revealed by some experienced sailor in a tavern. 'Always keep your lies small, and let the deceived fill in the blanks.'

Jorah, sitting near Draco, studying what looked to be maps, shouted to the two crew members in the ship's stern. A sound of something heavy hitting the water followed shortly thereafter.

"We've reached the island, and are ready to go ashore, as soon as the longboat has been lowered. We will need to bring up two more men from the ship's hold though, or the boat will not be easily maneuvered."

"If we must", Draco reluctantly agreed.

Jorah hesitated at the hatch, turning back toward Draco. "I believe I've reasoned well with the men we have freed, but one can never be certain. And the ones still down below may very well have decided to try something should we open the cage again. You should keep that knife ready."

Draco nodded. "I will."

'Soon I won't be needing any muggle weapons'

The tall man nodded back, after which they climbed down the hatch to fetch two more men while the others were busy readying the longboat. By the time the boat hit the water, Draco was close to giving in to his impatience, but he held back from Apparating straight to his things, barely. Being without a wand was excruciating.

As he was about to climb down, he saw that Jorah was instructing the crew to move an empty barrel down into the boat. "Don't bother with that", Draco said.

"It's two weeks to Volantis, and we have many thirsty mouths", Jorah replied, not stopping in his gesturing to the ship crew.

"I said don't bother. Do as I tell you to", he commanded, imperiously. 'Command needs to be excercised, or obedience is never learned.'

Sighing, and looking frustrated, Jorah told the men to stop.

"Let's not waste any more time. I want to be on that island _immediately_ ", Draco said, swinging himself over the railing, and descending into the boat rapidly, so as to show his impatience.

The crew seemed to have realized who was really in command, and didn't hesitate to follow Draco, eager to be off the ship even if just for a short while. As soon as Jorah had settled, the last man to do so, they cast off, and began rowing to the island's shore. 'The muggle slaves must have worked on ships before, the way they move about', Draco thought.

Several minutes later, when the boat hit the sand, Draco literally jumped ashore, taking off rapidly into the island interior toward his wand, and cloak, not even pausing as he shouted to Jorah. "Wait here. I will return shortly."

* * *

Jorah shook his head, wondering if it really was worth swearing himself to this unpredictable young lord. Telling the crew members to relax, he removed his leather sandals, and waded into the water, enjoying the caressing motion of the waves on his bare feet.

He was looking out onto the ship nearby, and the unforgiving sea beyond it, thinking about his life's journey up until this point, the trials he had undergone, before his contemplation was broken by what sounded like.. squealing pigs? And chickens?

Turning around to see where the noise came from, he was shocked to see dozens of pigs, not wild boars, but actual farm animals, as well as several dozen chickens following close behind, all running toward the beach as if told to do so.

The former lord of Bear Island could not move, entirely stunned, and when he saw the four large wooden barrels ten feet up into the hair, flying above his young liege lord's head, he began questioning his own sanity.


	6. A Show of Power

**Chapter 6: A Show of Power**

When Draco walked over the sandy dunes of the beach, carefully levitating the water barrels above his head, he reminded himself that this was the greatest thing these muggles had ever seen, likely in all of their lives.

Jorah looked shocked, as Draco strolled toward him, clad in his richly appointed tunic and thin cotton robe. The man's eyes were fixed on the barrels in the air. Until said barrels were lowered to the ground only a few feet from where he stood, when his eyes shifted to look at Draco, who had stopped in front of him.

"Next time I tell you to do something, Mormont, do it right away. As you can see, water was never an issue."

"I'm not sure what I see", Jorah confessed, mouth dry.

The crew from the ship had at first tried to catch the animals while gazing awestruck at Draco. Now though, they had given up on the animals and were kneeling in the sand, heads down, as if greeting a living God.

Jorah looked at the barrels, at the animals, at Draco. "Where did the animals come from? And the barrels?", he finally asked.

"Simple, really. The animals, I conjured from thin air, the barrels were transformed from sand", Draco bragged, his face smug.

"Conjured? You can create animals from nothing at all?"

"Yes, Mormont. I could conjure just about everything you could think of."

Jorah shook his head in amazement. "Incredible. And these animals, they are real? They can be eaten?"

"Yes.. Quality, and difficulty, will vary wildly when conjuring though. Transfiguring one thing into something else is more reliable for long-term durability, but requires far more skill to get right. These animals will slowly disappear over time or when their forms are interrupted, by death for instance. They're just constructs of my magic. Which means by the time they are ready to be digested, they won't nourish you half as well as they should. Not that we need to inform these m.. men of that."

It seemed like Draco's new right-hand man understood the gist of his explanation. "So this is for the others aboard the ship then, not us. For goodwill?"

"Just spreading a little cheer, Mormont. Just look at the sorry buggers, happy to kneel for a stranger. Not that I blame them, I am rather magnificent", Draco proclaimed, only partly joking.

Looking at the muggles on the beach, he continued, "Tell them to line up in front of me. Explain that.. that I will bless them."

Jorah did as he was told, speaking to the crew still prostrating themselves, heads bowed down into the sand.

The freed slaves rose from their kneeling positions and hesitatingly lined up in front of Draco, eyes down in respect, except for one fellow at one end who couldn't seem to stop looking at him.

"Good. Now, normally I wouldn't care but.. could they use the ship to make their own way to port, safely?"

"How do you mean, my lord?"

"If we were continuing our journey another way, would these people survive on their own, without supervision?"

"With the extra food and water.. yes. Probably. What do you mean, what other way? Will you tell me now that you have a dragon in your boots?"

"Hardly. But they will certainly think so", he said, nodding to the crew of freed slaves.

Taking out his wand, which he had cast a muggle aversion charm on before his show with the barrels, Draco went from one muggle to the next, carefully Obliviating all their memories of his recently performed magic.

Since the wand was not registering in their minds, all they saw was a benignly smiling Draco holding his closed hand, thumb up, pointed at their faces. The ones who had cleaned the deck from bodies, he spent an extra few moments on, modifying their memories of the carnage to look like the slavers had been burned alive by something. His skill at memory modification charms was average at best, so the memories would differ slightly for each person, but it would have to do.

"Now tell them to return to collecting the animals we 'found', and that they're to row out to the ship with a first load. They're also to release all the others from the hold, and tell them that they are now free."

Jorah raised both eyebrows and looked ready to protest at that last part, but did as he was told.

"What did you do to them?", he wondered, as the freed slaves seemed to shake cobwebs from their minds, looking curiously at the animals spread out over the beach, before beginning the process of catching them.

"I made sure they only saw what I wanted them to remember. We're not done yet though."

"Done with what?"

Draco ignored him. "Do you know what the base ingredients of a legend are, Mormont? It's one part extraordinary and one part unbelievable. Difficult things to build, legends, but as powerful as any magic when they are done right. Come with me, we're going to the other side of the island."

Going up past the beach and the palm trees that bordered it, the two men walked through the island's interior.

"As I understand it, dragons are rare these days, with most people never glimpsing one in their lifetimes. Would that be a correct assumption?", Draco asked the man walking at his side.

"Rare? More like extinct. There has been no dragons flying the skies for a hundred and forty years, since Ageon Dragonbane's last clutch died sickly."

"That can't be true", Draco exclaimed, "I saw a dragon just a week ago, among the ruins of old Valyria."

"It didn't look very sickly to me, but I didn't really get close either", he added, not noticing until he had taken several more steps that his companion had stopped in his tracks. "What is it Mormont?"

"Valyria? You've been to Valyria and.. and you've survived to tell the tale. A feat truly worthy of song, my lord", Jorah praised, looking properly respectful. "Since the Doom of Valyria, none are known to have journeyed there and returned to tell the tale. Truthfully, and I mean no disrespect, I doubt however that it was a dragon you saw. No dragons have flown over Old Valyria in four hundred years. A wyvern from the jungles on the Sothoryos mainland is more likely. Did you see it breathe fire, my lord?"

Draco's face scrunched up in concentration, the picture of the grounded dragon coming back vividly in his mind.

'Now that he mentions it, a dragon would surely have tried to fry me, even from a hundred feet down, especially if it couldn't fly after me'.

"A wyvern then. They look like dragons, I presume?", Draco asked for clarification.

Jorah nodded, "Aye, at least from a distance. Wyverns are smaller than dragons but the two are kin. They can fly formidably, even more agile than dragons, stories say, though they cannot breathe fire."

"Hmm, I suppose adding some fire won't necessarily make it more difficult. Wouldn't want anyone to be confused", Draco murmured to himself.

"My lord?"

"Never mind, Mormont. We've losing valuable time, come on."

The two resumed their trek, and after walking for several minutes in silence, arrived at the beach opposite to the one they had landed on. Draco stopped, turning around to look at his muggle confidant. "Before we go any further, I must know if you meant what you said, when you would be my man until death."

"I did, yes. I will give you my oath now, if you wish it, my lord", Jorah offered.

"Just your willing consent is enough. There's a.. charm.. to secure your loyalty. It will make certain that you cannot act against me, nor reveal my secrets without my permission. You would be bound to me until you die. Are you willing to bind yourself to me fully, Jorah Mormont, to support me in my quest for greatness?"

Jorah took a deep breath, straightening. "It would be my honor, Lord Malfoy. A chance to redeem myself, and my house, is a gift from the Gods. By asking me to become your first bannerman, you honour me greatly." He kneeled before Draco, looking up into the eyes of his new liege lord. "Do whatever you must, my lord."

Draco once again thought about the long conversation he had overheard during the holidays, years ago, between his father, and grandfather Abraxas, about the Death Eater mark, and what spells Voldemort should have used instead. He recalled one in particular, which was easy to cast as long as the one being bound was entirely willing. It left no visible mark, it guaranteed loyalty, and even granted some limited protection to its bearers. He hoped the latter would be true even if cast on a muggle.

" _Eius fidelitas, eius fortitudo, mei sunt"_ , he confidently intoned, touching the tip of the wand to Jorah Mormont's head, who in turn looked confused, for he felt but did not see the wand. A blue light exited the wand, splitting into several lines, two of which entered Jorah's head, and heart, the third line wrapping around Draco's wand arm. For a moment, both men felt the light solidify, binding them together, before it dissipated.

Taking a step back, Draco curiously asked, "How do you feel?"

Jorah rose, flexing his arms, his hands questing across his body, in search for something. "Strong, my lord. It is strange, for I feel stronger now than before I was captured."

'So he's more lethal than ever. Perfect', Draco thought, smiling to himself.

"Good. You're meant to. In fact, you'll find that your health will fade slower than most men. You may thank me properly by serving my needs excellently."

"Now that that's out of the way," Draco continued, "It's time for us to get out of here, before the people on the ship come looking for us. I can't let this opportunity go to waste". He pulled out his broom from the mokeskin pouch, which got an awed look from Jorah, but thankfully prompted no more questions. Draco swung his legs over the broom, and gestured for Jorah to climb on behind him.

"A broom? You wish me to mount a broom?", he asked incredously, adding "My lord" as an afterthought.

"Yes, a _flying_ broom. More comfortable than it looks, too. Climb on behind me. Hurry up, we need to do this while those big clouds over there are still near the island", Draco ordered.

Jorah tentatively settled behind Draco on the broom, before grabbing it tightly and cursing loudly as they rose some twenty feet up into the air.

"What I am about to do is a delicate bit of magic, so don't ask me questions, don't even speak, until I tell you to."

Draco began crafting an illusion around the broom, using a charm that his father had taught him as a nameday present. At the size he wanted it, it wouldn't last for more than two minutes, and it would leave him exhausted for the rest of the day, but it would be worth it.

* * *

A great roar was heard across the water.

The freed men and women climbing around the ship anchored outside the island, loading the animals and water from the beach, were all startled.

As half a hundred heads turned to seek out what could have made such a fearsome sound, they saw a giant, emerald green dragon rising into the air from the other side of the island. Mounted on its neck were the men that had ensured their freedom. The first man, white blond hair dancing in the wind, raised his arm into the sky like a King daring the Gods to oppose him, a great pillar of flame erupting from the dragon's mouth as he did so.

Giant flapping wings lifted the dragon and its riders higher up into the sky, increasing in speed until it disappeared behind the cover of clouds.

* * *

"My lord", Jorah shouted from behind him. Slowing down, annoyed that his thoughts had been interrupted, Draco turned around to look at his companion. "What is it?", he bit out.

"The past hour has been rather cold, my lord. Is there anything you can.. do .. about that?"

'Ah. That's a good point. Should have cast warming charms along with the disillusionment charm', Draco chided himself. The delight at pulling off such a grand bluff, and successfully planting the seeds of the story he wanted spread, had been at the forefront of his mind, so it was an understandable mistake.

Casting a warming charm on the both of them, he warned his loyal follower to hold on, as he again accelerated toward the Essos mainland, and Volantis.

'I have gold to claim, stories to weave, and power to steal.'


End file.
